


Oubliette

by orphan_account



Series: Humanity [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bestiality, Bondage, Double Penetration, Drugs, Figging, Forced Orgasm, Gang Rape, Humiliation, M/M, Mummification, Object Insertion, Rape, Scat, Self Harm, Starvation, Watersports, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-27
Updated: 2011-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-26 14:07:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/284147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You like humans so much, Gabriel? Let's see how much you like being their bitch."</p><p>Instead of killing Gabriel at Elysian Fields, Lucifer binds his brother's power (temporarily or permanently, I don't care). He sets Gabriel up in a little underground room, which is locked at all times except when - nightly - a group of men comes in to have some fun. Lucifer tells him that if he can make it out of the room and up the stairs to the street, he'll go free. But he's not that big, not compared to these guys, and they always grab him before he can even get to the door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oubliette

**Author's Note:**

> Originally for spnkink - full prompt here:
> 
> "You like humans so much, Gabriel? Let's see how much you like being their bitch."
> 
> Instead of killing Gabriel at Elysian Fields, Lucifer binds his brother's power (temporarily or permanently, I don't care). He sets Gabriel up in a little underground room, which is locked at all times except when - nightly - a group of men comes in to have some fun. (They have no idea he's an angel - they just know there's a free fuck out of it). They get off on roughing him up; anything that's humiliating and painful goes - DP, object insertion, spit roasting, whips, chains, blindfolds, forced orgasm, etc. Lucifer tells him that if he can make it out of the room and up the stairs to the street, he'll go free. But he's not that big, not compared to these guys, and they always grab him before he can even get to the door.
> 
> Maybe some of the men think it's all part of the scene - Gabe's not really unwilling. After all, he never says the safeword his dom gave them.
> 
> Bonus points if Team Free Will finds him and stages a rescue.
> 
> Please no demons - just normal human sadism.

Gabriel's choking on his own grace, clutching his brother's hands as they work the blade to draw out his whimpers.

"Don't forget," Lucifer purrs, "you learned all your tricks from me. Little brother," and he shoves the blade deeper, so that all Gabriel can think about is the pain. If this is dying…

\-------

He wakes up, impossibly, on a cold concrete floor. There's a ringing in his ears and a dull feeling snaking through his bones - as if waking up from a long, restless sleep. He stays there for a minute, registering that he appears to be breathing with no effort, his heart is beating soundly, and his left calf itches. He flips over slowly to stare at the ceiling - the same dull, smooth grey as the floor.

There's a light pressure on his wrists, and he lifts them up to his face, turning them back and forth to see the engravings on the silver bracelets. Enochian binding, keyed to his name and grace. Probably made of the same stuff as an angel's blade. Probably impossible to remove by himself. He dully thinks that this is why his body has spontaneously decided to start metabolizing again and also why he feels like he's got the hangover of the millennium.

He's naked. He thinks probably if he were human this would have been the first thing he'd notice, but he never quite got the point of being naked and ashamed. Never did get a bite of the fruit of knowledge, after all.

He's naked, and he brushes one hand over the spot on his stomach where his - where Lucifer had stabbed him. It's smooth and clean, and he wonders if he caught a lucky break somewhere, if something pulled him out just in time. Although if that were true he probably wouldn't be lying naked and bound in a concrete room.

He's not that keen on getting up, but eventually staggers to his feet. He feels as weak as a human baby, tottering around, and weighs the pros and cons of crawling instead.

He'd rather be stubborn.

The rest of the room is as nondescript as the floor and ceiling - just smooth grey concrete with a drain in the middle of the floor and a harsh florescent light in the middle of the ceiling. One wall has a door, a huge iron thing with no window or even handle. He walks over, pushes against it, tries to fit his fingernails into the edge to pull it open. It doesn't work. Either it's too heavy for his nails or locked, and he leaves it as a hopeless task.

The only other thing in the room is the drain, so he inspects that. It, too, is iron - he wonders if that's intentional - and resists any attempt to pry up the small circular grate. It isn't as if he could fit through it. He can barely fit his hand in it.

He wonders if he is dead, and this is just some strange sort of afterlife. Like Purgatory, except he's well aware that Purgatory is nothing like this. Maybe he's been in Purgatory a while. Maybe he's gone mad.

The hypothesis is supported by the fact that the door suddenly has a handle. He rushes over, reaching for it, hoping.

"I wouldn't do that, Gabriel," says Lucifer behind him, and he stops with two fingers around the handle. When he turns around, Lucifer is only a few feet away, smiling at him with an odd sort of pity. His vessel - Nick, wasn't it? - looks worse than the last time.

"Nick, yes. He's - proving fragile." Lucifer sighs. "Gabriel. I didn't want to do this, you know."

"Yeah? No one - "

"Makes us do anything, you've said. I understand if you're a little muddled by the experience. It can't be pleasant, being, ah - " he gestures at Gabriel's wrists " - bound like that. But it was necessary."

"Necessary. Right. So what, you're gonna leave me down here until it's all over? Sic a couple demons on me, maybe?"

Lucifer shakes his head slowly, pacing forward until he's grasping Gabriel's arm. Gabriel pulls away, but he has none of his own enhanced strength, graceless as he is, and the effort is futile. "You don't understand. Say the word, and I'll let you go. With your grace and everything."

"And the catch is - "

"You agree to help me. Obviously."

Gabriel snorts. "No."

Lucifer holds up a hand. "Ah, ah, ah. Wait. You won't have to fight any of our brothers, Gabriel. I'll even leave that goddess you like so much alone. I just want you to fetch me a few things here and there, maybe put down a demon or two who's getting out of hand. That's it."

"Answer's still no."

He nods. "Is this about Michael? Because - "

"We've had this conversation."

Lucifer huffs out a breath, narrowing his eyes. "The humans. The humans, really? I was afraid you'd say that." He pauses. "Gabriel? This is for your own good."

He could easily have used his powers, but opts instead to jerk Gabriel's arms behind his back and shove his head down, dragging him back to the center of the room by the drain. He pushes Gabriel down into a kneeling position, and with a short flash of grace leaves him with his knees spread and wrists shackled down to his ankles. His elbows are tied together, too, and he can only arch his back to relieve the pressure slightly.

He raises an eyebrow. "Bondage, Luci? Didn't think you were - ah - that kinky."

Lucifer shakes his head as he produces a gag. "I'm just going to watch." He deftly fastens the gag around Gabriel's head, pushing the little rubber ball past his teeth. "You like humans so much?" he hisses. "Let's see how much you like being their bitch." He stalks over to the door. "Oh. I almost forgot. Gabriel, so you know? I'm not making them do anything. They're not possessed. See those sigils above the door? Keeps the demons out. They're not being paid, either. Some of them - most of them - aren't even particularly desperate for a partner. This is what humans are really like, little brother, and it's high time you learned."

He pulls the door open. Beyond him, Gabriel can catch a glimpse of a staircase, the dim light of a streetlamp slanting across and leaving the faces of the men - three or four - in shadow.

"Hey." The one in the lead grins. "Weren't sure we were in the right place, but, ah - " he peers around Lucifer's arm " - seems like it. Nick, right?" He cocks his head a little. "Man, your face - "

"Eczema. Bit of a flare up, runs in my family. Don't worry, it's not contagious. But my little - bitch - here, he doesn't like kissing me when I'm like this. So I promised him I wouldn't kiss him." He's probably got one of his disarming, self-deprecating smiles on, and the men laugh and file in. There's a tall, ripped, brunette - Gabriel might have gone for him at one point, in an entirely different situation - a little Asian guy with really bright, white teeth, some blond with a crew cut.

"We're expecting a few more," Lucifer tells them as he walks behind Gabriel and pats him on the head, "so you don't mind waiting a little to get started, hmm?"

Of course they don't, and Gabriel's heart sinks as the men start coming in twos and threes and fours. By the time Lucifer's closed the door, there's a good thirty guys there, all crowding around him hungrily and whispering among each other.

He's got a thin line of drool going down his chin, and he's desperately trying not to choke on his own spit as his arms from the elbow down get more and more numb. He makes a protesting noise when Lucifer caresses his cheek, wiping the spit away. Lucifer claps once, and the men shut up, standing almost at attention.

"You all know the ground rules," he says. "You all know the safeword. Right?" A murmur of confirmation runs through the crowd. Gabriel freezes, then jerks against his bonds, slobbering curses around the gag. Lucifer laughs, and the men follow his lead. "Don't worry. We won't stop unless you say it, bitch." Gabriel glares up at him. "I think he's a little surprised so many people came to see him," Lucifer continues. "I mean, he's just an untrained bitch. Might be a little feistier than you're used to - so, don't hesitate to rough him up. He needs the training." From his vantage point, Gabriel can already see the bulges in their jeans, and he works his numbing fingers frantically against the cold metal, shaking his head and staring up at their faces for some hint of sympathy. He finds none.

"So now that you're all here - let's, ah, get this party started, as it were." Lucifer steps back, beyond Gabriel's peripheral vision, and he's left alone in the circle, still trying to free himself.

"Stop that," comes a gruff voice from behind, and someone's kneeling around his back, grabbing his fingers to keep them from moving. Gabriel stills. There's something hot and hard poking his spine, and he's pretty sure he knows what it is.

Some big Asian - he'll have to call them the big one and the little one, he thinks hysterically, and wonders briefly why everyone else here is white which he realizes suddenly is a very human thing to do - some big Asian guy with a scar across his lip steps up and removes the gag, and he takes his opportunity.

"Guys," he says, coughing out his spit, "guys, don't do this, this isn't what you think, just let me go, please - "

Little Asian guy looks uncomfortable. "Dude," he hisses to big Asian guy, "are you sure - ?"

Big Asian guy laughs. "Jamie, I told you, it's part of the scene. Shut up, you're ruining the effect." He drags the leather of the gag down Gabriel's cheek. "He's a good actor though, huh?"

"No, no, I'm not acting, guys - Jamie! I'm not acting, get them to let me go, please, I will do anything - "

"Anything, see?" Big Asian drops the gag, and puts his hand over Gabriel's mouth instead. "Why don't you ask for a blowjob?" The rest of the guys are pulling down their flies and pulling out their own dicks, some of them stripping entirely.

Jamie still looks unsure. "Uh - "

"C'mon, man!" He grabs Jamie's arm, drags him over, and kneels next to Gabriel with one hand on his throat. The other guys shout encouragement, and Jamie swallows, nods, and unzips.

"I'll bite it off," Gabriel tells them, "I'll bite off anything you put in there."

"We'll have to get a ring gag," someone says, "He's got a big mouth. I bet he'll be able to fit a good sized one."

Gabriel's arms are completely numb - the guy leaning on them probably isn't helping - and his shoulders are starting to ache. "Yeah, and I'll bite off your fingers if you try to put one in."

Big Asian guy tightens the grip on his throat. "You really are a badly behaved bitch, aren't you? Here's the deal. Jamie's not just going to fuck your throat. He's going to take his dick - and it's not small, look at that - and shove it into your tight little ass. And, I mean. In all the excitement, I forgot to bring my KY. What about you guys, huh?"

The other guys chorus agreement.

" - So the only lube you're getting tonight is your own spit. Want to open up?"

Gabriel stares straight ahead at Jamie's crotch and keeps his mouth shut. He shakes his head.

"You sure? I'll give you a little time to think about it. Ten. Nine - "

Everyone else joins in. Someone's jerking off right next to his ear. " - Five. Four. Three. Damn, he's a stubborn one. Two. One. Time's up. Last chance."

Gabriel doesn't move.

They untie his elbows and he flinches in sheer relief. When they unlock the rest of the bonds, he jerks away and kicks out, catching the guy behind him in the stomach. The guy grunts. "Fuck!" Gabriel scrambles to his feet, tries to break free of the circle of men, but they lunge for him and catch his flailing limbs. He thinks he takes down a couple, briefly, which only redoubles their efforts.

He almost gets away, though, until he sees Luci pushing through, handing something to the crew-cut guy. Douchebag crew-cut swings, and Gabriel - held by three guys on his left arm - folds against the bludgeoning force. The man's got a baseball bat, wooden and heavy. He swings it into him a few more times, into his stomach and ribs, until Gabriel's curling up in the fetal position to protect himself. He's pretty sure he feels something break.

Big Asian guy grabs Douchebag's wrist, and he stops swinging, finishing it up with a kick. "Calm down, calm down. He's not going anywhere."

They subdue him quickly after that, forcing his ankles apart with a spreader and bringing his arms up through his legs to attach to the same. His head is forced down against the floor and his ass is in the air - big Asian's got his hand on the back of his neck and is stroking fingers through his hair. "Had your chance. Now Jamie's gonna have some fun."

"I don't think - "

"C'mon! Dave got kicked in the nads for you, least you could do is accept your present. Be half a fucking hour before he can get it up again. Give a show to tide him over."

Jamie pads around to Gabriel's back, and spreads his buttocks, pausing. "Dry?"

"Yeah. Look, he was offered another option. He chose not to take it. Just fuck him already."

Gabriel grunts a protest, eyes pinched tight against both the spreading pain on his abdomen and the anticipation of his rape. Big Asian slams his head into the floor, and he thinks he blacks out for a second, because suddenly Jamie's pressing in, and it burns and burns and burns.

He screams, thrashing before he realizes that movement on his part only makes it worse. Jamie stops when he's got all the way in, hands gripping Gabriel's hips tight enough to bruise. He's breathing heavy - Gabriel can hear him in time with his own whimpers. Big Asian laughs. "Wish you'd given him that blow, doncha?"

Gabriel can only make a little choked noise, his whole body trembling. Jamie starts to pull out again, and he screams again, doesn't stop, mutters curses and pleas at the concrete. Jamie pauses, before someone else - Dave, maybe - snaps, "Friggin' move already, man, there's a lot of us want to take our turns tonight."

So Jamie keeps going, faster and faster as Gabriel's blood slicks the way. He screams until his throat is raw, fading away into pathetic little sobs as the torture continues. People are jerking off all around him, he knows, because when they come they set hot semen shooting over his back. Someone starts to rub it into his skin, takes a handful and presses it against his cheek and mouth. Pushes it past his lips, and he spits it out onto the floor. Whoever it is laughs, and keeps up the routine, spreading him all over with the thick scent of it. Jamie's dick just pounds away, shoving in and out rhythmically, until his thrusts break pattern and he stops, hips twitching as he comes deep inside Gabriel.

Big Asian had just kept stroking Gabriel's hair, and now he lifts his hand away to pat his back. "So? Good, huh? Tightest hole you've ever been in?"

He can imagine the grin that Jamie returns vividly. "Yeah. Definitely." He pulls out, slapping Gabriel's ass on his way. "Thanks, man."

Big Asian turns Gabriel's head to the side and makes eye contact. "So. Jamie was the first, but he's definitely not the last. Whaddya say - want to retract your previous stance on blowjobs?"

Gabriel just stares at him, amber eyes meeting dark brown. "Please," he whispers, "just stop. Please."

Big Asian shakes his head. "Even if I did, there's twenty-eight other guys here who really want a piece of this. And it would be selfish of me to deny them. Blowjobs or no blowjobs?"

He says nothing, only turns his eyes away.

"We'll give you a little chance to make up your mind, shall we? See, you've made a bit of a mess." Big Asian gestures to the little puddle of saliva and come and - blood, as Gabriel's sickened to see, by his head. "Why don't you clean that up, and after you've done that you can tell us." He grabs Gabriel's hair, wrenches his head up painfully, and shoves his face into the puddle. "Lick it up, bitch."

Gabriel doesn't move. "Lick it up, or we'll see how well your ass takes two of us. At once. Got it?"

He dutifully starts licking, because he's not sure he can take that, and periodically stops to dry heave before big Asian shoves his face back in the puddle. He's not satisfied until the floor is completely clean again and Gabriel's just licking concrete, and then he pulls Gabriel back to force eye contact. "Well?"

The pain in his ass hasn't receded. The pain in his neck's only getting worse, and his arms haven't improved. His jaw is sore. His ribs are sore and there's a sharp pain every time his stomach moves. He breathes out with little gasps through his half open mouth. "Blowjobs," he whispers, because they would at least have to move him from this position. Give him a minute to breathe normally.

He hates to think that he even has to breathe.

"What was that?" big Asian asks, curling one hand around his own ear. "Did you guys hear that?"

"Bl - blowjobs," Gabriel says louder.

"Aw, that's not how you say it. You've been bad. This is a privilege. You're gonna have to beg for it. Say pretty please."

Another spurt of come hits him, this time coming straight in the eyes. The men burst into another round of laughter as he blinks it away. He looks up at the man, pleading silently.

"Say it," big Asian says.

"Please." Gabriel mutters the words, swallowing his own shame. "Please. Let me blow you."

The men have the audacity to laugh. "Alright. I will. See, I knew you'd come around." They untie him once again, and this time he only has the strength to struggle a little, groaning low in his throat when someone kicks him on his bruised ribs.

He doesn't know when they brought it in, but there's a black padded bench waiting for him by one wall. He's lucky, he thinks dully, that it's padded; they settle him against it, strap his waist down, and tie his limbs to the legs. He lets his head hang down, and the edge of it presses into his neck.

He wonders if he could suffocate himself this way, slowly cutting off his own air. He wonders if Lucifer would let him die. He can see him in the opposite corner, sitting and watching - he wonders if Lucifer gets off on this, but then his brother would probably never lower himself to such a human thing as sexual pleasure.

Big Asian's positioned himself in front of his mouth, dick bobbing freely as he jacks it up. "Open wide!" He fists Gabriel's hair - he has a thing for Gabriel's hair, it seems - and says, "By the way. This was me in a good mood. If you do anything involving teeth, you're going to see me in a very bad mood. We still have that baseball bat. Understand?"

Gabriel nods, and licks his dry lips before opening them slightly.

"Wider."

He lets his jaw open wider, and chokes when the man suddenly shoves his dick in. He can barely breathe around it, can't do anything but try to bear the taste and smell as the guy starts to slowly fuck in and out. "Fuck, yes," he breathes. "You're a fucking natural. How's your deep throat?" Gabriel can't reply, but he doesn't need to, because the guy holds the base of his skull and shoves in deeper, deeper, deeper. Gabriel gags and chokes, eyes widening as the thing hits the back of his throat and keeps going. He can't control his drooling, and now he can't breathe at all, struggling against the hand on his head and the leather ties and the smothering force of the spelled bracelets on his grace.

The guy laughs again. It's a horrible noise, now, all too familiar; he pulls out, still laughing. "Not so good, I see. That's alright. We'll teach you yet. Lick it." He presents the head to him. Gabriel draws in deep breaths before complying. It tastes just as awful, worse now that it's concentrated on the tip of his tongue; it's something he never much minded before but now that he's forced into his human senses it's overwhelming.

Then he feels hands on his hips again, and someone's shoving in, and he stops licking, thrashes and cries out. "You - you said - " his eyes flick over to Lucifer, who's still sitting there with a pitying smile on his face " - said I could -"

Big Asian shakes his head as the guys around him titter. "I didn't say anything. Just asked if you wanted to give me a blowjob. That guy there doesn't want a blowjob. Now open up, or I'll go around back and help him out."

Gabriel looks up at him blankly, making involuntary whimpers as the guy behind him starts to move. He opens his mouth, and obediently swallows when the man comes.

After a while he starts to lose track, doesn't count the number who've gotten off in his mouth or ass or just by rubbing up against his side. It seems as if the experience will never end. Maybe it won't. Maybe an endless stream of people will come through that door, people like this who won't stop even as he begs and pleads and screams. There's blood running down his thighs, and semen spread everywhere, and he imagines he can feel the seams of his body start to rip apart.

Then, one by one, they start to leave, until even the big Asian guy has headed up the stairs to the light. Lucifer shuts the door, and comes over to kneel next to Gabriel's head. "How are you, Gabriel?" he asks, tracing one thumb along Gabriel's jaw.

He can't respond. His jaw aches, his throat is sore and raw, and he stares at Lucifer's hand.

His brother sighs and stands, and is back with a warm, damp towel in a few seconds. He runs it slowly along Gabriel's back and sides, untying his limbs one by one as he reaches them and easing Gabriel off the bench. He presses softly against Gabriel's hole, runs the cloth along his bottom lip and down his neck. He still hurts, all over, but at least the smell is gone.

"What do you say, Gabriel? To my offer?" Lucifer says after a while as he gently massages his shoulders.

The saliva has returned to Gabriel's mouth, and he leans into the touch. "I - " his voice is scratchy and alien to him. He blinks, slowly. "Fuck you."

Lucifer stops. "So stubborn, Gabriel." He shakes his head, tutting. "Well. Here are the rules." He cups Gabriel's chin so that he's looking up, and gazes into his eyes. "Every night, they'll come. Not," he clarifies, "the same men. There's seven groups. They all think you're getting a good week to recover. Which, technically, you are - even better, really. I'll heal you afterwards, see." Sure enough, Lucifer has resuming his petting, and with every touch the bruises are fading. Even his rectum hurts a little less. "And every night, there are two ways you can get out. If you can get past them - get out that door, up the stairs, and onto the street - I'll let you walk free. You'll have to figure out your own way of unbinding your grace, of course. Or you can say yes to me." He pauses. "Why won't you?"

Gabriel huffs. It takes some time for him to reply. "They don't - they don't think they're doing anything wrong. You lied to them. They think I've got a safeword."

"You do have a safeword. You just don't know it. Or. You sort of do, actually." Lucifer shrugs, flips him over, and resumes treatment on his front side. "Do you think all of them would stop even if you did say it? Not many people are dedicated enough actors to scream like you did, Gabriel. Even Jamie got into it - and he seemed so nice at first, don't you think?"

Gabriel doesn't reply.

\-------

Lucifer feeds him every three days, one bowl of bland oatmeal, one can of baked beans, and a bright red apple. He's getting skinnier. Weaker. He's growing a beard, too, which he thinks is funny, but it stops growing after barely a quarter inch and just stays like that. He gets as much water as he wants, but stopped drinking so much after he found out that the Thursday group likes to press on his stomach until he pisses himself. They collect it all and force it down his throat - he vomited the first time, but tries desperately not to do so when he realizes they could do much worse things with the vomit. The ones who come on Friday are all rich businessmen, ashamed to admit they're sadists, and they're usually the most gentle. Or, at least, they don't come up with new and unusual things to do to him. They tend to avoid his and each other's eyes.

The room starts to fill up with equipment, some that the men bring and some that Lucifer provides. There are hooks in the walls to chain him up to, gags of all kinds, dildos and enema setups. The ones on Mondays don't use any of it, just tie him up with belts, gag him with baseballs, fuck him with beer bottles and lube him with beer. The Wednesday ones tend to be the most practiced with the things, tying him up in elaborate positions to the ceiling and leaving him to swing upside down or alternating whips depending on the part of the body they're whipping. The whips he can handle. It's just pain, most of the time, and he's done pain. It's the sheer helplessness and violation that push him further and further down into himself.

After the first week, he doesn't start out tied up or even naked, and once he even reached the door handle before being dragged down and beaten. He grows more desperate as he grows weaker, but submits more easily after being corralled. It's easier that way - it tends to hurt less.

The ones on Thursday also like to make him come, jerking him over and over again, fingering his prostate. He comes even as they fuck him, until his dick hurts and his entire body is red with shame. They, at least, use real lube, enough of it to ease the process.

On the thirtieth day, he tries to cut off his own left hand to slip just one bracelet off. He's gone mad, he thinks vaguely, pushing past the pain to saw at his wrist with the dull knife they shoved up his ass once. The hand comes off. The bracelet jumps further up his arm and settles there, cold and tight. He has to wait, the stump of his arm bleeding - he's surprised he hasn't bled out by the time Lucifer arrives, takes one look, and heals him with a disappointed frown. He doesn't try to take them off after that, although he does try to kill himself. He suffers for hours, throat cut, and still he doesn't die.

He starts to scratch tallies into the wood of the whip holder to keep track of the days. On the thirty-sixth day, Lucifer leads him to the far wall - away from the door - and presses Gabriel's palm into it. A little doorway opens up, into a tiny room with a small white cot, an empty bowl, and a basin of water with two white towels.

"I'll be gone for a while, Gabriel," Lucifer says, "I won't be able to come heal you personally. I've charmed the water, though, so you should be able to do it yourself. Both bowls will refill, so you won't starve. There's a hole over there for you to defecate in. New clothes every day, of course. And the room will clean itself up, too, don't worry. I thought you could use a little more comfort, so - " he nods over to the bed. Gabriel's been sleeping - passing out, really - on the floor. "They won't be able to get in here. Only you. Only when they're not here. I'll come if you call, Gabriel. If you ever want to accept my offer."

Lucifer kisses him on the head, strokes his arm, and leaves. He doesn't come back.

\-------

They're a little surprised when they come in and Gabriel's the only one there, but by the ninety-second day they've decided that Lucifer isn't going to watch the sessions at all anymore. It helps that they got a guy in who claimed to know exactly how to find hidden cameras, and after figuring out that there aren't any they taunt Gabriel with the news. "Nick doesn't even care anymore, huh? Got tired of your slutty little ass - he's just left you here for us."

By the ninety-second day they've also decided that Gabriel's gotten too complacent, and if the Sunday crowd is anything they're creative. The big Asian's got Gabriel lying slumped over his lap, aching from the token initial punches to his head and stomach, and is alternating between fondling and slapping his balls. His dick presses heavily into Gabriel's hip. He'll probably fuck his mouth, first, then double up with Jamie to fuck his ass. If he's lucky someone else will have done it first, and he won't have to take them both dry.

Gabriel realizes sickly that he's expecting it, doesn't even care much anymore, and the thought would make him retch if not for the knowledge that he'd have to lick up his own vomit, or use it as painfully acidic mockery of lube. The blood's rushing to his head in this position, and he stares blankly between his own legs at the far wall. It's as smooth and grey as ever.

Dean Winchester, he thinks, spent thirty years in hell before he broke, and Gabriel's barely gone three months on earth. He pushes the notion aside, though, because thinking of Dean means thinking of the other Winchester, too, and all the reasons why Lucifer doesn't visit anymore. Because he's gotten tired, yes. Because he doesn't need Gabriel anymore, because he's gotten all he wanted and the world above the stairs is a burning wasteland full of dead monsters.

The men suddenly burst into laughter. He barely notices the metallic jingle that precedes it over the noise of his own thoughts. The noise of his own whimpers, too, which he doesn't even really notice anymore either.

Something cold and viscous seeps down his backside, and he would almost be ecstatic that they've decided to grace him with real lube today if he weren't sure that it heralded another new game. Sure enough, between the window of his legs he sees what appears to be a fucking German Shepherd a few feet away, and hell no. He stiffens slightly, breathing speeding up as the click-clack of nails on the floor grows louder.

Douchebag with the blue eyes and crew cut grabs his hair, pulls his head up so that his throat is curved all the way back. Douchebag likes to do this. "So we figured," he tells Gabriel, "that you just don't seem to appreciate us anymore. And then Jimmy here thought, well, we should do something nice for you. To show how much we care. And we all know what you really like is, well, being someone's bitch. Right? 'Course. And so Dave over there said that we should give you the chance to be a real bitch. His Jake, here, he's been feeling real lonely lately. See, the owner of the bitch next door gets pretty pissed when he tries to breed her. But, hey, your owner's nowhere to be found."

Gabriel's throat has gone dry. Drier. As Douchebag lets go of his hair, his head drops down, and he's staring straight at the dog, who's sniffing his ass happily.

He shoves off big Asian guy, rolling away and scrambling back as the guy just sits there and laughs. "No no no no no no no," and he's aware he sounds pathetic, probably looks pathetic too. Douchebag grins.

"Aw, a little shy? Don't worry, Jake's a real gentleman. Doesn't even try to pull out his knot if it's too soon. Won't tear up your pretty little hole any more than he has to."

Gabriel's just got his eye on the dog, and stands against one corner with his hands shaking and nostrils flared. Little Asian guy makes a grab at him, and he lashes out instinctively - little Asian reels back, cursing around his split lip, and the rest of the men come for him.

He's back on his stomach in about three minutes, struggling against the four or five guys holding him easily down. The guy - Dave - with the dog leads it over, lets it sniff at him for a while. Gabriel can only feel its nose brushing up against him, the warm air of its breath puffing across his cheeks. His head is held down in some guy's lap, and they maneuver him over to the bench. They don't tie him down to it, just keep holding him in place, and he jerks up when the dog suddenly jumps on him, front paws scrabbling along his sides. "No. No no no no no, please, no," but they just laugh. They only ever laugh, hold him down hard enough to bruise, fuck him like a toy.

It takes some maneuvering on Dave's part, probably, before the dog's really humping against Gabriel. Someone's holding his ass cheeks apart, guiding the creature in, and Gabriel lets out a long, keening wail as its penis pushes its way in. The dog's slobbering against his neck, pressing fur along his flanks. He keeps struggling, weakly, crying now, and he's dimly aware of the dick in front of his face before it's pushed in his mouth. He chokes around it, opens his throat obediently, lets the guy grab his skull and shove into him as the dog fucks him from behind.

He knows how dogs reproduce. He knows everything, from everywhere, but it's still a shock when the knot fills up. It's still a shock when the dog flips around, semen spurting hotly into Gabriel, and they let him go - except for the man at his front. He can't get away. He knows. It will tear more, tear horribly, but he still tries to push away before stopping with a yelp when the pain becomes too much. They laugh.

He's had a fist in there. He should be able to get away, but he lies limply across the bench, sucking quietly until the man pulls out and ejaculates all across his face.

Douchebag leans down, strokes his cheek, and says, "Maybe we should start a business, hmm? I bet a lot of dogs want to take out their frustrations on a willing bitch."

Gabriel doesn't answer, his face burning hot, and he stays there as the dog pulls out and the men start to fuck him one by one.

\-------

the hundred-and-sixty-fourth day they hold their hands over his nose and choke him until he opens his mouth, which is not new, but this time instead of piss or semen they're feeding him something small that he might only be imagining is bitter or chalky and it doesn't take long for him to stop struggling, breath panting out in tiny gasps as he flicks his tongue over his lips as if they are something new unlike the choking or the distant laughter or the funny colored things dancing over his skin

an hour later he's babbling in Enochian, but maybe it's Araki or Lojban he's thinking of and one of the men asks, "The fuck is he speaking? Swedish?" before shoving something in his mouth which he still mumbles around as he traces tiny, powerless symbols in the air with one bloody finger

bloody because they don't want him to fucking talk, it tickles, shit, shut up

shut - "OW! Fuck!" and he's back on the ground, nose pushed into the concrete, giggling through the rhythmic kicks

it must be a Tuesday because the Tuesday crowd's always rougher, and they invite new people all the time and it was probably the new people who gave him the drugs

Luci probably wouldn't have let them give him drugs but then again he might have wanted to do it himself and anyway it's been a long time since Luci came to check on him

a long time, which is funny, because because because…

they don't even really bother to tie him up or blindfold him or anything tonight

which is nice but also horrible, because he thinks if they tie him up he might be able to escape the blue woman who dances in the corner of his eyes every time he moves his head maybe she would get bored and go away

he would have

maybe

or maybe not because in the other corner of the room he's eating a stack of pancakes drowning in syrup and laughing like the men do and he gets the feeling he's always there, only now he can see him because the shiny white star-stuff that's draped across his face is showing him the truth

that was what Luci said, anyway

they go away eventually, and he crawls after them because there's a lady who's sure there's a stairway there that will set him free but he comes to the door and it whispers shut, telling him it's not time yet, not now, let it be

five hours later he's trying to peel his own skin off with a crowbar because the colored things are back and they hurt, like little red ants who just want to be left alone to eat each other

do ants eat each other? they must

everything does

the next night they're all a bit surprised but they make little cooing noises and seem to be happy - "Look at the little bitch, he's high as a kite - "

he wonders when this will wear off, because he's tired of trying to crawl out of his borrowed skin and anyway no matter what he does to it it heals right over again

\-------

Gabriel wakes up with a pounding headache. He considers never moving again for about ten minutes, which is a highly subjective length of time down here, and eventually pushes himself up with a long exhale. "Fuck," he says. It's not particularly satisfying, and he gets shakily to his feet. No more drugs. Never. He'd rather have the dog. Hopefully the skinny man with the thick glasses who'd brought them isn't going to come back.

Gabriel isn't hopeful.

He staggers over to the little room. He's clean, of course - whatever cleans the room cleans him if he's still in there, and they hadn't bothered to beat him up much while he was high, but he splashes the water over himself anyway. It doesn't help the headache, and so he sinks down along the wall beside the cot. He doesn't know what time it is. Hopefully he didn't sleep long. Hopefully he at least has a little while.

He dozes off for a little, then eats, savoring each tiny bite of oatmeal. He can't afford to let it go to waste - he tried saving it, once, but everything he'd left had disappeared by the next day, and the hunger pangs were even worse that week. The apple is getting smaller, he thinks, and spends a minute sniffing it before picking up the can of beans first. It's easily the best part of his day, because there's not only sugar but tiny little pieces of meat in it. He licks out the can, then sets it on the floor. He's considered using it to cut his throat again, but he's not sure what would happen, since Lucifer isn't coming. Would he be helpless? Perpetually dying? Would one of the men come in and find him, take him to a hospital, save him from this prison? He rather doubts the latter. The kinder ones have filtered out, gotten bored, and only the angrier, rougher, filthier ones remain.

He thinks the apple is Lucifer's attempt to be funny, because every time they strip him naked now he finds himself ashamed. Never mind that the Tree of Knowledge had nothing to do with apples. He peels off the skin with his teeth, sucks on it and swallows, then laps at the white inside. It takes him probably an hour to eat the apple, biting off a good-sized chunk at the end and eating the seeds and core first. The flesh that he saved helps wash out the bitter taste.

He only sees himself in a mirror when someone decides he needs to see how broken and wanton he is, but just looking down his body he thinks something's wrong. Not because he's too skinny - he is skinny, and he doesn't know how anyone could think this body is at all good-looking anymore - but because he knows he should be skinnier. He's seen people starve. His ribs should be jutting out, his knees larger than his thighs, his belly large and protruding with gas. He hasn't even got many symptoms of starvation, and he wonders if it's because he's still an archangel or because Lucifer wants him to stay alive.

He's paced out both rooms too many times to count, but he still looks around for anything new when he goes into the other one to mark off the days. The whip stand long ago filled up, and he's etching them painstakingly into the wall now. The men never notice. He has two to make today, because he lost his chance yesterday when he was high and trying to tear his skin off instead.

Thirty-three days ago, he'd tried to escape using the crowbar as a weapon. He doesn't like to think about what they first brought it in for, but it had been there a while, and that time they'd seen fit to beat him with it until his arms and legs were bloody and broken. He'd barely managed to crawl to the little room before the next group came in, barely managed to even heal before the familiar pushing sensation forced him into the bigger room for the next night. He hid the crowbar the next day, and only uses it now to scratch at the wall with one jagged end. He thinks it takes half an hour to make one tally. It's not like he has a watch, only a small plastic egg timer. He doesn't use it. He thinks they brought it in on a Sunday. It's always the ones on Sunday. Jamie stopped coming after the thing with the dog - so did a lot of people. It just means the ones who still come are even crueler.

He still doesn't know most of their names. They don't bother to tell each other, and they wouldn't tell him. They don't know his name, either, probably. They only ever call him bitch, or whore, or fucktoy.

He finishes the tallies, and wonders if he could keep them out using sigils scratched into the wall. He doesn't need grace to work that magic, after all. He doesn't know if there's one that will turn away a human. At least he could have hurt demons, spat holy words at them to make them cringe in pain. Blessed his water and flung it in their eyes.

It doesn't seem fair.

\-------

On the two-hundred-forty-ninth day, they leave him suspended by his ankles to the ceiling. It takes him until some time after the room cleans itself to get free, and he nearly breaks his neck descending from the position. He does break several fingers on the way, and one thumb intentionally to slip his hand through the shackles. The ropes and chains replace themselves, snaking over the floor, and he stumbles over to the little room.

It's another food day, and he's been looking forward to it since the last. He dips his hands in the basin, ready to feel the sting and itch of fingers reshaping themselves. Nothing happens.

He panics. He looks over to the place where the food arrives, and it's there, thankfully, stable and constant. He immerses his hands in the water, splashes it over his bruised lip, and cries with relief when the spell works and his body heals.

Maybe it was a fluke. Maybe he didn't really get his fingers wet at first, he just thought he did. He was just dizzy with anticipation, that's all.

He eats, then falls asleep on the cot. When he wakes up, there are new clothes beside him, but he doesn't bother to put them on.

\-------

He starts to test sigils, spending days to carve just one by the doorway. He goes through all the normal ones, tries to see whether any of them react. They don't even notice the sigils, let alone feel an itch.

He tweaks them. Combines languages, combines prayers, sets up little rituals around them. He even sacrifices his apple, once, because maybe there's a god that can see him and would help. The apple is gone by nightfall, but they still come, and he still can't escape. He doesn't know if it was Lucifer who took it, or the room, or a god, or even just himself gone mad and forgetful.

He doesn't go mad, though. Really. The sigils keep him focused, and he stares at them, thinking of ways to change them, even as the men push ginger root up into him and then fuck him two at a time. He modifies his wording as he's kept immobile by duct tape and saran wrap bound around everything but his nose and anus. He invents new languages as they pour sewage down his throat and draw patterns into his skin with silver knives. They've realized by now that he heals. They think they can do anything to him. They probably can.

None of the sigils work, but he keeps trying.

\-------

On the four-hundred-sixty-fifth day, he prays to Kali, huddled in the soothing darkness of his little room. He hasn't tried praying to a specific god before. She is a protector in one guise, after all. She is the mother of languages. Maybe she will send him inspiration.

He gnaws at his fingers until they bleed, and draws her name on the floor, kissing it with his bloody lips and chanting mantras until his voice is only a whisper.

She does not come.

\-------

The six-hundred-fiftieth day, they crucify him, and he cries out, "Abba, abba, lema sabachthani?" There's one man there that night who understands ancient Aramaic. He's a theologian. He laughs.

Gabriel's Father does not answer. Gabriel does not call on Him again.

\-------

He wonders if this is what the other Winchester felt like when Gabriel trapped him - helpless, angry, alone. Caught in a cycle of days that never ends, only gets worse and worse until something deeper than a bone or sinew snaps.

\-------

His salvation does not come by angels, or gods, or magic.

\-------

"It's in the Talmud." Sam slams his copy down on the desk. "I don't know why we didn't look here earlier, honestly."

Dean looks up. "We did. It had some crap about Leviathans being afraid of tiny fish and eagles being afraid of frigging swallows."

"No, no, there's a different part. Um. 'Gabriel is to arrange in the future a chase of Leviathan; for it is said: Canst thou draw out Leviathan with a fish hook? Or press down his tongue with a cord? And if the Holy One, blessed be He, will not help him, he will be unable to prevail over him; for it is said: He only that made him can make His sword to approach unto him.'"

"…Gabriel's dead. And I'm pretty sure the rest of that little passage means we'd have to look for God again, anyway. Which went really well the last time."

Sam deflates slightly. "Yeah. I guess."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Look, man, I know you had this massive hate-crush on him, but - "

"I did not!"

"Sure thing, Sammy. Whatever you say."

Lucifer smirks at him, one eyebrow raised, and Sam presses his hand until he goes away.

\-------

Fisting is pretty much standard by now. What's different this time is that it's a woman doing it, and he thinks it took them a damn long time to get a woman here. She's kinda hot, but her hair is made of snakes and they're crawling up his arms, which he doesn't feel comfortable with. He's glad they haven't brought in any snakes that weren't attached to a person. Or horses. A horse would be bad. He could be like Catherine the Great, except she never actually slept with a horse. He giggles at the thought.

They've drugged him again, which is probably why he's seeing snakes. He doubts that a Gorgon would be here. Or be able to get in. There's definitely something against Gorgones etched on the wall there. Or maybe it was against Gorgo. No. That was a movie. Right? Maybe he has something against it anyway.

She wants him to like it, though, and he obliges, spreading his legs wider and grinding down on her arm. "Hey there, sweetheart," he tries to say, "maybe I could buy you a drink sometime?" but it comes out all wrong. Not English. Or Spanish, or French, which might be appropriate. She just looks at him oddly and pulls her arm out, crawling on top of him instead and settling all the way down. He thinks he should like that, too, so he makes a little moaning noise.

Someone comes up behind them and starts fucking him, which doesn't hurt very much at all so he lets them. If it had hurt he'd smite whoever it was, and he says so loudly, but this time it's in Chinese. Not even Mandarin. Something weirder, with twelve tones instead of four and a completely different syntax. Speaking of twelve tones, he tries to hum but never quite gets that far. He screams instead. He thinks it's because someone stuck a needle in his thigh.

The woman looks alarmed, and Gabriel wants to calm her down. "It's okay," he says, "they probably won't do it to you, and I've had worse before. It's just a needle. A - " he looks down at his bleeding thigh " - sail needle, which means it isn't a sharp, which means they're probably not injecting anything there which is good because I'd hate to get addicted to heroin or anything. I'm on something right now, but I don't think it's addictive because they keep giving it to me and I'm not addicted yet. It's different than the first drug, though." He pauses. He's not sure where to go from there.

She looks more alarmed. That time it came out right, though, so he doesn't know why she'd be scared. "Sweetie," she says, and Gabriel doesn't think she's talking to him but he's going to answer anyway, "I thought you told me this was all - consensual."

Gabriel nods. "Of course. Completely consensual. It's a much better option than working for Lucifer. Though I'm not sure about that anymore." He wants her to keep moving, and pushes his hips up a little.

She's staring. "Luci - what - you let them stick fucking - steel rods in you?"

"I wouldn't say let. Although I am letting them. I suppose. In one sense of the term." He's just glad he's managed to stick to the right language. Humans. They switch it up all the time, it's so hard to keep track.

She gets off him. "I want to go home," she says.

"Aw, babe, we're just getting started. I thought you said you wanted to try it."

"Yeah. Not into quite this level of crazy. So - I'm leaving, thanks."

Gabriel thinks that's sweet. No one's ever left on his behalf before.

\-------

"I don't want to fight you," Meg protests, while Sam holds Ruby's knife to her throat. "I swear. I just want to get by, okay? Those - things - I don't know what the fuck they are, but they're fucking scary. I want to avoid them as much as you do."

"Which doesn't explain," Sam growls, "why you're here at all."

"Coincidence! I didn't know you'd here. Look, I haven't killed anyone or anything. Just let me go."

"They're called Leviathans," Dean tells her. "And I wouldn't put it past them to use demons as minions. Sam, will you just kill her already?"

"Leviathans. Oh. I'm not, I'm not working for them!" she squeaks as Sam presses closer. "Look, if you promise not to kill me, I can tell you all about them."

"What would you know?"

"Hey. I know things. Um. Gabriel's supposed to kill one, during the - "

"Yeah, see, we got that already. And Gabriel's dead. So. Anything else, bitch?" Dean's crossed his arms, growing more impatient by the second.

Meg swallows. "…Gabriel's not dead."

"Liar."

"I'm not lying. He's alive, I swear!"

"Yeah? So he escaped Lucifer, ran away - " actually, that sounds plausible.

"Not exactly." Sam raises his eyebrows.

"Yeah?"

"Take the knife away and I'll tell you."

"If you're telling the truth about the Leviathans, you want them dead as much as we do."

"…Promise you won't kill me."

"No."

Meg shrugs. "Then I won't tell you. And Gabriel will be stuck where he is. Forever."

"…Fine. I won't kill you. For now. Where is he?"

"Promise?"

"Yeah. I promise. And that's as much as you're going to get, so spit it out."

"Chicago. He's in Chicago. Go to Bound Lilies, it's a club. Ask the bartender if you can see Nick's bitch."

Sam hesitates. "…Seriously? What - "

"I don't know what they do. There's protections all around the place. Demons can't get in."

"…If you're lying, Meg? We will hunt you down."

She smiles shakily. "Yeah. I got that."

\-------

It's possibly the sketchiest club Sam's ever been to. It's not for Dean. He refuses to elaborate.

They make their way through the press of bodies in various states of undress and copulation. Dean's groped at least sixteen times, which wouldn't normally upset him, but he'd like to get out of here with a minimum of contact. When they reach the bar, he huffs a sigh of relief. It's slightly easier to breathe, here. The heavy musk of perfume and sex is lighter.

"What'll you have?" the bartender asks, and Dean shoots him his best grin.

"Two beers. And I was - "

The guy looks at Sam with a raised eyebrow. "You let your sub order?" He looks Dean up and down. "Also, you should probably put a collar on him. At least. Dunno if you're new to the scene or what, but if he's not marked everyone will think he's unclaimed."

Sam sputters. "He's - he's not - look, we were just told to come here because you knew something about, um, Nick's bitch. We're brothers," he adds.

"…You're the bitch's brother?"

"No, no, I mean. Dean and I." He gestures awkwardly at Dean. "I mean, we were just told you could tell us where he is."

The bartender snorts. "You don't seem like the type. Where'd you hear about him?" He leans in. "Have you seen Nick lately?"

Lucifer's sitting on the bar. Sam glances at him. "Um. No. It's been a while, actually. But he said if we were ever in Chicago, we should ask about him. If he's, ah, he is still there, right?"

The bartender shrugs. "Yeah." He pulls a scrap of paper out, scribbles down an address. "Have fun. Don't get there until ten, it doesn't open. Still want those beers?"

Sam accepts the paper. "…Thanks, but we'll pass." He shepherds a really pissed-off looking Dean out of the place, and looks at the address in the light from the streetlamp. "Guess this is where we're going."

Dean follows behind. "I don't really look submissive, do I? I mean. I'm just as - " Sam tunes out his muttering until they pile into the Impala. "They just call him 'bitch'," Dean says. "What do you think - I mean, you don't think they're - " he makes a little gesture with one hand.

"I don't know," snaps Sam. "Just drive, okay?"

\-------

It's the seven-hundred-seventy-first day, and Gabriel's finished another sigil. This one's carved into the floor - it's too big to have fit on the wall with all the other ones. It's laced throughout with Enochian, Babylonian, Latin, Bashu, and a little Middle English thrown in for good measure. It's a pretty one. Very symmetric.

They'll be here soon, probably, although since he can never hear beyond the door he doesn't know exactly when it will be. He goes to put the crowbar away, then stops. Keeps it.

It's stupid. He'd learned his lesson way back in the hundred-thirties. And since this was the Sunday group, they'd probably remember what they used it for originally, and do it again. It was inspired. He's almost surprised they hadn't repeated it back then, but then again that was a period of innovation for them and they'd come up with something nearly as interesting the next week.

Last Thursday, he hadn't healed at all. And there was only oatmeal waiting for him in the little room.

Maybe the sigil will work this time. Maybe he won't have to use the crowbar at all.

He goes and puts clothes on, just in case.

\-------

The outer door is unlocked, and they proceed cautiously down a set of steps to reach the inner door. It's iron, Sam can tell at a glance, and as he runs his fingers over it he can tell it has protective symbols inscribed all over. "Huh," he says, and tries to open it. There's no visible lock, just a handle, but it doesn't open.

The door above them opens, and Dean whirls around, one hand on his gun. There's a big guy above them, staring down. "Hey," he snaps, "who the hell are you?"

Dean moves to draw the gun, but Sam's hand on his shoulder stops him. Sam grins. "Hey. We're just here to see, ah, Nick's - bitch. That alright with you?"

The guy pounds down the stairs. "You're a little early. Opens at ten."

"We were, uh, really excited. You know."

The guy - some Asian dude with a scar across his lip, maybe six feet - grins. "Yeah. I know. Sorry, but you're the first new faces in a while. It's a bit sad, really. Only ten of us left. The others all chickened."

"…Right." Dean smiles tentatively. "Chickened."

Asian dude snorts. "We do some pretty nasty stuff in there. We'll see if you're up to it. I'm Daniel, by the way."

"Sam."

"Dean."

"Alright, well, we've got a little while - hey, Dave!" Someone else has come, and Daniel introduces them. "Gonna tell you a little about it, okay? Don't know how much you know, so I'll go over it all. First thing. His safeword's - "

"He's got a safeword," Dean says.

"'Course. Don't worry. He's never used it. His safeword - safe phrase, really - is 'Lucifer, save me'. Like the devil, okay?"

"…Yeah."

"Got it."

Sam asks, "So - did he give you this, or - "

"Nah. Nick did. Said he wanted the first time we met to be in scene. Second thing?" His grin widens. "Anything goes. And that's all for - "

"Third thing," Dave interrupts, "is that the puppy's got a bit of a bite when you first walk in. So watch out. He calms down quickly by now."

"Eh, well, he's actually been getting feistier lately." Daniel shrugs. "Should have seen him the first couple months, though. Nearly rendered Dave here impotent, huh?"

"Yeah. Has a nasty kick."

"Right. Okay then." They stand around awkwardly for a few minutes as more people come in, until Daniel taps his watch.

"It's time!" He gestures at Sam. "Want to do the honors?"

"Uh."

Daniel laughs at him. "I'll do it. Stand back." He pushes open the door, and the staircase is flooded with white florescent light.

A crowbar comes whistling up to Daniel's neck, and he barely gets out of the way in time. "Puppy's got a new bone!" he says. "Watch out guys, it's a crowbar. Where'd he - oh, I remember. That was fun. We should do it again, huh, bitch?"

The other men flooded into the room right after Daniel, and Sam and Dean glance at each other to step cautiously inside.

He's recognizable. Barely. Emaciated, wearing clothes that drape off his body in all the wrong places and holding a crowbar that looks too big for him to hold, let alone use as a weapon. He's got a beard, too, short and trimmed-looking but still there, and his hair is uncombed, stark contrast from the way they're used to seeing it - all slicked back and effortless. "Shit," Sam says, and Gabriel's attention jerks to his face. His eyes are almost the same, but hunted, and they flick back and forth across Sam's face before the expression on his face turns horrified and he freezes.

Daniel takes the opportunity to lunge for him, and Gabriel's reflexes are dull because Daniel catches him around the throat and wrests the crowbar away. He lets go, takes a step back, and swings, catching him right under the ribs. Gabriel crumples with a cry, sinking down, eyes still trained on Sam even as Daniel forces his chin to face forward. "Yeah, they're new. We're gonna give them a good welcome, alright? So why don't you take this opportunity to strip, first."

"The clothes are new," Dave notes. "He hasn't had them for quite a while. Year?"

"Longer." Daniel swings the crowbar back and forth. "Doesn't matter, 'cause he's gonna take them off. Right?"

Gabriel looks away from Sam and up at Daniel before settling his eyes somewhere on the floor beside him. He shrugs off his jacket, and reaches up one violently shaking hand to unbutton the top button on his shirt. "Quickly," adds Daniel.

Dean's positioned himself on the other side of the group of men, and Sam steps forward. "Hey, Daniel," he says. "Mind if I take a look?"

Daniel nods. "Go for it," and steps back a little. Sam almost runs forward, catching Gabriel's hand in his as the angel reaches for a third button. Gabriel doesn't look at him, but he whispers.

"You're back," he licks his lips. "You're back."

Lucifer's standing on the other side, looking down at Gabriel with a frown. "He thinks you're me, Sam," he notes, reaching one hand down to stroke through his brother's hair. "Sad, isn't it, that he can't recognize his own brother?"

"Shut up," Sam hisses, and Gabriel shrinks back. "I mean - sorry. I wasn't - "

"Don't apologize to him," Daniel tells him, "it makes him feel like he's worth something."

"Yeah," says Sam, "it does, doesn't it?"

"I won't do it," Gabriel whispers. "I won't. You've got what you want already."

Sam nods. "You don't have to do anything," he whispers back, and beckons Daniel closer. Daniel obliges, and Sam grabs the dangling end of the crowbar. Daniel may be big, but Sam's bigger, and he's been fighting all his life.

Daniel's out like a light before he can say uncle. Sam considers hitting him a few more times, but decides against it, turning his attention instead to the other men in the room. It's two against nine. And they're just human. They've had worse odds.

Dean's got his gun out. "Hey, fellas," he says, "now, you're all gonna back slowly through that door and you're not gonna come back, okay? Hop to it." He swings the muzzle back and forth between the closest targets, and they flinch as it turns to them.

"Hey, you can't do this," Dave says, "I'll get the police in here - "

Dean laughs. "Yeah. You do that. I bet Gabriel here will have a lot of interesting things to tell them."

"…Gabriel." Dave looks surprised.

"What, you didn't know his name?" Sam snaps.

One of the other guys - some blond guy - says, "Well, no. Didn't really come up, you know?" He's got his arms crossed and is scowling. "And I've got a lot of friends, who don't necessarily have much to do with the police. And they'll be coming as soon as I call."

Dave looks slightly sick. "Wait. No, look, we're not - this is all just a scene. Look, he heals right up every week. Doesn't even use his - "

"Safeword, yeah." Sam snorts. "What was that again?" He holds up a hand as Dave starts to speak. "No, I want him to tell me. Gabe?"

Gabriel's jaw works slightly, then closes, mute.

Dave steps forward a little, flinching right back when Sam makes a threatening gesture. "C'mon, man - um, Gabriel. Just tell us. Please." He's got a panicked expression, and keeps making little movements with his fingers.

Dean's disgusted. "You seriously think - look at him! How long's it been since he's eaten? He tries to attack you every time you come in the room!"

"Lots of people are skinny - "

"Dude, that's not skinny. That's African orphan right there. Seriously? I'm tempted to kill you right now, for frigging stupidity if nothing else."

Lucifer looks up from where's he's petting Gabriel. "He's going to hell," he interjects, "the whole lot of them, actually. In case you were wondering."

Sam ignores him. "Get out. All of you. Now. And you - " he directs at the blonde guy " - you go ahead and call your friends. Whatever the hell you want. I think we can take a pack of low-life rapists like you."

Dave gives a full-body shudder at the word 'rapist', and he looks over at Gabriel pleadingly.

"Out!" Dean barks, and they filter out, Dave still staring back at Gabriel, sparing a glance for Daniel still out cold on the floor.

Dean shuts the door behind them, and proceeds to tie Daniel's limp form up with the myriad of ropes hung along the walls. Sam turns back to Gabriel, holding out one hand like the angel's a frightened deer or something. "Gabriel. It's me."

Gabriel hasn't moved his hand from his third button, and he swallows as he looks up at Sam. "…Winchester?" he rasps out, "Sam?" and Sam nods, holds onto his shoulder as Gabriel reaches his hand up to touch Sam's face reverently. "You're alive," he says.

"So are you," Sam says.

Gabriel plows on. "I - he stopped coming. I thought it was because he didn't need me to say yes anymore. I thought he'd already won."

Sam shakes his head. "No. No, he's in the Cage, Gabriel. We won. Humanity. Free will. And we're gonna get you out of here, okay?"

Lucifer smiles. "Yep. In the Cage."

Gabriel nods slowly, lets Sam lift him to his feet and holds on tightly as they make their way to the door. Dean holds it open, gun still out as he peers around to make sure there aren't any nasty surprises waiting for them. There aren't, and they continue on through the door.

Gabriel stops suddenly at the first step. He furrows his brow, looking down and up, places a hand against an invisible wall. "I. I can't - I can't get out." He breathing speeds up, and he starts to hyperventilate, shaking. Sam grips him tightly.

"Gabriel. Gabriel, look at me. We're getting you out. There's probably just - something there stopping you from moving, okay? But we're gonna find it."

Dean runs his fingers along the wall, stows his gun and flashes his light up at the ceiling and down at the floor. He glances at Sam. "I - "

"Check under the floorboard. Those stairs have got to be wood for a reason."

Dean nods, takes out a knife and starts to pry up the topmost layer. As he peels it away, he shines the light on it. There are symbols carved deeply into the wood, and Gabriel lets out a moan when he sees them, sinks down and starts rocking back and forth.

"Gabriel?" Sam hefts him up - fuck, he couldn't weigh much more than a hundred pounds - "Gabriel, focus, how do you break them? Is there something we need?"

"Gabriel!" Deans snaps his fingers in front of the angel's face. "We've got all sorts of things in the car. Hell, you remember, we had holy oil. Can't be rarer than holy oil. Just - "

Gabriel interrupts him. "No. No, you just, carve through them. Just mess up the language." He's leaning against Sam much more heavily now, barely supporting his own weight.

Dean blinks. "…Okay. Okay, I'll do that." He carves thick lines through the writing, then continues up the stairs. "That do it?"

Sam lifts Gabriel up, and he passes through easily. "Seems like it."

Gabriel whispers into Sam's chest. "He told me I could get out. The door locked, except when they came. But if I could have gotten past them, he said, he'd let me go. I just had to get through the door and up - up the stairs," he chokes out.

Sam nods. "Alright. Alright. He - he was - he lied to you, Gabriel, I'm sorry - "

He laughs. "No, no, he didn't lie. He just left out a very important detail." His voice drops. "I did that. A lot."

"Yeah. Yeah, you did. But it's okay now, Gabriel. Just keep moving."

They run into three more boundaries before they reach the top. Gabriel's face is shining in the light from the streetlamp, and Sam can't help but think he almost looks divine as he stares open-mouthed at the filthy Chicago street. Dean opens the last door, checks around the corners. "Come on," he says, holding it open, and as Sam and Gabriel stumble through Gabriel's laughing and sobbing, breathing the polluted air in as deep as if it were the wind of heaven itself.


End file.
